Pocket People
by LittleGingerBiscuit
Summary: Pocket!John Short little oneshots about Sherlock and his pocket person John, who's got a lot to learn about the way things work, but is willing to try anything.


**Hey people! This is a fic requested of me on tumblr, by user geekvsnerd11. I really really loved this idea as soon as it was submitted, I just thought it was so cute! :) So here we go...it's going to be multi-chapter, but it won't be a continuous story, more like little oneshots each new update. Chapter one is all about John's living conditions, since this is something geekvsnerd11 seemed quite eager about, and I loved the idea of too :) Enjoy!**

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"Sherlock. No."

"Why not? You can't keep sleeping in my bed, I'll just smother you with my pillow again."

"I don't like it!"

"Oh, and you like being smothered?"

"More than _this!"_

Sherlock sighed and lifted John up off the table to sit on his shoulder. He kept his hand there for a while to make sure the little man didn't fall off backwards, then reached out to get the small doll's house off the desk.

"I don't see what the problem is," he said, opening the door and poking his finger inside. "Several rooms, looks nice…"

"It looks like it belongs in a little girl's room, Sherlock," John protested, crawling up on to Sherlock's head and taking tiny fistfuls of his hair in his hands to hold on. "I don't want it."

"It's this, or sleep in a cardboard shoebox. And you know they give you allergies." Sherlock plucked John off his head and placed him carefully on the table. "At least go have a look around. You might like it."

John scowled up at him, the effect kind of lost since there was a fair bit of distance between them, and John didn't exactly look very…threatening. "Fine," he said, huffing and stomping up to the front door of the doll's house.

Sherlock knelt down on the floor by the table, peeking in through the door with a smile.

John, once he'd taken a look at the fuzzy little doormat on the front steps of the house, turned and slammed the door with as much force as he could. To Sherlock, the only audible noise was a small click, but to John it was a deafening – if not quite satisfying – rattle.

The inside of the doll's house was just as hideous as the outside. Granted, it was quite spacious, but the pink frilly wallpaper did little to appease John's hatred of the place.

First of all he encountered an entrance hall, with stairs leading up to the second floor directly ahead of him, and rooms leading off to the left and right. Standing in the corner of the hall there was a tiny pen-lid, which contained a small cocktail-stick umbrella, like the kind you got in drinks at bars. It wouldn't do any good for him against the rain, and the yellow pattern was frankly hideous, but it did give everything a more…homey feel.

Deciding he'd explore upstairs later, John headed off to the room at the right of the house. This was slightly less alarming than the entrance hall; the wallpaper was cream-coloured and dotted with pale pink flowers, and it was carpeted with a pale blue felt.

Someone had put two old ring-boxes next to each other, open, so the padded satin inside provided a sort of makeshift sofa. That was nice, since the outside of the boxes were covered in rich, dark blue velvet.

Along with that, the torn fabric of a shirt pocket was draped over the floor to act as a rug. It looked almost as if it could have come from Sherlock's coat, but John had nestled in to those pockets enough to know they weren't broken.

Up on the wall there was the face of a watch, minus the wrist-straps. Again, John guessed this was courtesy of Sherlock, since the detective had been missing his old watch for quite some time now.

That was pretty much it for the living room, except for the lacy curtains at the windows and the old painted matchbox for a coffee table.

**~Pocket!John~**

The room to the left at the house turned out to be a kitchen. For somewhere so small, it was surprisingly detailed. There was a tiny stove backed up against the wall, and a doll's house table-and-chairs set in one corner.

The stove, John was thrilled to find out, actually worked. Well, it would do, when he could get Sherlock to help him light the tiny metal pan with a match.

Along with that, there were two working taps (John was positive Sherlock must have tampered with that, since the rest of the house looked far too simple to have things like running water already built in). Another watch had been stuck up on the wall, only this one was digital, so it came with a handy alarm for when he was cooking food.

**~Pocket!John~**

All that was left to explore now, of course, was the upstairs of the house. This was the part John had been slightly worried about; he was used to sleeping in Sherlock's bed, curled up on one of the man's pillows with an empty sheet wrapped around him like a nest. Sleeping in a house of his own would be strange after that.

However, upon seeing his new bedroom, nearly all his doubts faded away. The wallpaper wasn't girly at all in here; the walls had been hand-painted a pale blue, and the carpet was light cream. Pushed up against the wall there was a toy bed, clearly something from a Barbie house, or a remnant of the old doll's house furniture that used to be in there.

Either way, someone had stripped it of any offending pink fluff, and all that was left was a tiny pillow and blanket. The pillow, John realised, was a soft pincushion (with all the pins removed, of course), and the blanket was a tiny corner-piece of some sort of woolly material.

John opened the bedroom window and leaned out, waving to Sherlock, who was still crouched outside.

"What do you think?" asked the detective, giving him a small wave back.

John bit his lip, going slightly pink. He felt silly for putting up such a fuss before; the house was nice, and at least it prevented Sherlock from rolling over him while he slept. "I'd like to have it, please."

Sherlock smiled, half triumphant and half…just happy. "We can move it in to my room," he offered, cupping his hands by the window so John could jump out in to his palm.

John crawled out and sat cross-legged in his hand, clinging to his pinkie finger tightly. "Ok," he said, nodding.

Sherlock seated John on his shoulder; the little man again took hold of his hair and held on to it like it was some sort of safety bar on a theme-park ride.

"It's dinner time soon," Sherlock said, checking the clock. "Are you going to be eating with me, or do you want to cook in your own house?"

John looked thoughtful for a moment, swinging his legs absently so his heels thumped lightly against Sherlock's shoulder. "Um…house," he decided. "But we can put it on the kitchen table."

Sherlock smiled; he wanted to give John a hug, but the last time he'd tried that, it had resulted in John needing to catch his breath back for a good five minutes. So he settled for patting his head gently. "How am I going to live without you in the flat, John?" he teased.

"Don't worry," said John, smiling at him reassuringly. "I'll come and visit."

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**Was it ok? I'm really new to writing this sort of stuff, so I don't really have any idea whether this was good or not. I just thought the idea was so cute, so I wanted to give it a go. Anyways...I do love getting reviews, however brief, and they inspire me so much to get on and write more chapters. So...yeah. Go ahead and review, if you want to :) Or you could request your own fic on my tumblr: boys-from-baker-street.**

**Amy xxx**


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